Dear Poet Friends, I conclude this series on The Enigma of Time by mentioning few important features about the concept of Time according to Modern Philosophy and Science. I have used a
simple format, and also tried my best to simplify the concepts for your kind appreciation. Unfortunately, there is no provision on this Poetry Site to show Diagrams to elucidate! If you like this one, kindly repost the same for wider circulation! Thank you, Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
            
       CONCLUDING THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE:
                      PART THREE – BY RAJ NANDY
              
              TIME ACCORDING TO MODERN PHILOSOPHY

UNREALITY Of TIME : Mc Taggart’s ‘A’ and ‘B’ Series:
Now skipping through the pages I come to Modern Philosophy, with Mc Taggart the British philosopher of the 20th Century.
He had acquired a substantial following with his 1908 paper on the ‘Unreality of Time’ initially.
With his quibbling argument he states, that moments in his ‘A’ Series of Time are either of past tense, present tense, or of future tense.
It is all about human perception, since we experience the past through our memories;
Become aware of the present through our senses, while future is pretty unknowable.
Here time appears to be flowing through us, as nothing remains stable around us!

In his ‘B’ Series of Time Mc Taggart expresses differences in moments of time as either Before or After,
Without using the tenses used in his ‘A’ Series of Time.
All parts in time can be expressed equally as points along a time line, in the absence of past, present, and future tense;
While here we appear to be flying through time in a metaphorical sense!
Thus in the ‘A series’ time appears to be flowing through us, but in ‘B series’ we seem to be flying through time on a timeline created by us!
Therefore, Mc Taggart finds both the ‘A’ and ‘B’ Series describing Time to be inadequate and also contradictory;
And he finally concludes that Time is unreal and does not exist in reality!

How Mc Taggart’s Theory Was  Updated :
Modern Philosophers have re-casted Mc Taggart’s theory in term of findings of Modern Physics.
His A-Theory is updated into ‘PRESENTISM’, which holds that only thing that is real is the ‘present moment’.
In ‘Presentism’ time has no past or future, and time has no duration either!
All things come into existence and drop out of existence, and past events no longer exist;
And since the future is undefined or merely potential, it too does not exist!

His B-theory is re-formulated into ‘ETERNALISM’ or the ‘Block Universe’, influenced by the later Theory of Relativity.
‘Eternalism’ holds that past events do exist even if we cannot immediately experience them, and future events also exists in a very real way.
The ‘flow of time’ we experience is just an illusion of consciousness.
Since in reality, time is always everywhere in an eternal sense!

Theory of Growing Block Universe:
It was proposed by the Englishman CD Broad in 1923, as an alternative to ‘Presentism’ where only the present exist;
And also as an alternative to ‘Eternalism’ where past, present, and future together also exist.
In ‘Growing Block Universe’ only the past and the present exist, but not the future.
Since the growing of the block happens in the present, with a very thin slice of space-time continuously coming into existence;  
Where consciousness as well as the flow of time are not active within the past,  
But they can occur only at the boundary of this ‘Growing Block Universe’!
Few scholars this concept did criticise, saying that in this theory the word ‘now’ can no longer be used to define Time!

But according to Einstein, this perception of ‘now’ that appears to move along a timeline, creating the illusion of ‘flow of time’, arises purely as a result of human consciousness;
And the way our brains are wired due to our evolutionary process, enabling us to deal with the world around us in a practical sense.
“People like us, who believe in Physics, know that the duration between the past, present, and the future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion,’’ said Einstein.

A poem on ‘The Paradox of Time’:
Now to lighten up my Reader’s mind, I present only the first three stanzas from ‘’The Paradox of Time’’, composed by the British poet Austin Dobson:
  “Time goes, you say? Ah no!
   Alas, Time stays, we go;
      Or else, were this not so,
  What need to chain the hours,
  For youth were always ours?

  Ours is the eye’s deceit
  Of men whose flying feet
     Lead through some landscape low;
  We pass, and think we see
  The earth’s fixed surface flee,
     Alas, time stays, we go!

  Once in the days of old
  Your locks were curling gold,
     And mine had shamed the crow.
  Now, in the self-same stage,
  We’ve reached the silver age,
  Time goes, you say? - ah no!
       Alas, time stays, we go!”
            
HOW LIGHT IS CONNECTED WITH THE CONCEPT OF TIME:
Brief Background:
I commence with quotes from the ‘Book of Genesis’ - Chapter One, along with my thoughts about Light and Time,
Before concluding this series with Albert Einstein’s concept of Space-Time.

“And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day. ……And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth. And it was so.”
                                                      - BOOK Of GENESIS Chapter One.

Since ancient days, Light had acquired a religious and a spiritual significance.
Since Light became associated with goodness, intelligence and ultimate realty;
Light accompanies transcendence into Nirvana of Buddhist religious philosophy.
In due course the Sun began to be worshipped as an important live-giving deity.
As seen in the symbolic form of Egyptian Sun God Ra, and the Greek gods Helios and Hyperion as the Sun god and god of Light respectively.
In Hindu mythology Surya is the Sun god, and Ushas the goddess of Light.
Huitzilopochti, both the Sun god and god of War of the Ancient Aztecs was kept pleased with human sacrifice!

SOME PROPERTIES OF LIGHT:
Plato, during the 5th Century BC said that God was unable to make the World eternal, so gave it Time,  - “as the moving image of eternity.”
While some seven hundred years later St. Augustine in his ‘Confessions’ said,
That when God created the universe out of darkness with light, “the world was also created with Time, and not in time.”
Thus along with light, time also began to flow, while our scientists discovered a connection between the speed of light and time, few centuries ago!
To understand this connection between light and time, we must first understand something about the properties of light.
Light is the visible part of the electromagnetic spectrum* which can be perceived by our human eye.         (See Notes Below)
As seen in the red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet colors of the Rainbow in the sky,
When water droplets acting like countless prisms break up white sunlight!
Now this electromagnetic spectrum also contains the ultra violet and infra red spectrum which our eyes cannot see.
But this entire electromagnetic spectrum contains Photons, which are discreet packets of zero mass less energy.
In a vacuum light photons travel at 186,000 miles for second, which Einstein declared as the cosmic speed limit, and as an universal constant.
When a photon strikes the eye, it is turned into electrical energy that is transmitted to the brain to form an image which we call sight.

NOTES : Gama-rays, X-rays, Ultraviolet lights, have shorter wave lengths & more energy than Visible light. But Infrared, Microwave, Radio waves, with larger wave lengths are less energetic than the Visible spectrum of light. Sir Isaac Newton using a prism had discovered the spectrum of visible light, & used the word ‘spectrum’ for the first time in his book ‘Optick’ in 1671.

EINSTEIN'S SPECIAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY 1905 :
In his Special Theory of Relativity of 1905, he stated that nothing can move faster than speed of light which is 186,000 miles per second.
This speed of light always remains the same, irrespective of its source and frame of reference.
Now the mass of an object would double if it travels at 90% of light’s speed.
But if the speed of light is reached, mass of an object would become infinite!
Since photons, the quantum particles that make up light have a zero mass, they move at the speed of light.
Even inside the World’s Largest Particle Collider (LDC), located near the French-Swiss Border,
Experiments are carried out only around 99.99% of Light’s speed, in accordance with the Laws of Physics.
Einstein had also shown mathematically that on reaching Light’s speed, Time will come to a standstill!
And should this Light’s speed be exceeded, then Time would start to travel backwards, which becomes a mind boggling concept!
Here we enter into the realm of science fiction, which has been described by HG Wells  in his popular novel ‘The Time Machine’.
But to become a time traveler shall always remain our cherished desire and dream!

NOTES: Only mass less particles like the photon can travel at light speed, photons experience no time, they do not age. Objects with mass cannot reach the speed of light since in that case its mass will become infinite. Also, one cannot see the fourth dimension because of Lorenz Contraction, which is also related to stopping of time, for at the speed of light an object will shrink to zero length! Also, particles interact with the Higgs' Field present all around to pick up mass, excepting photons which do not interact with this Higgs' Field.

Now Einstein’s theory of 1905 is called ‘Special’, because it explains how space and time are linked for objects that are moving in a straight line at a greater speed but which is constant.
Time moves relative to the observer, and objects in motion experience ‘Time Dilation’.
Meaning, time moves slowly when it is in motion, as compared to one who is standing still, -  a relative comparison.
This can be further explained by the ‘Twin Paradox’, where a 15 year old travelling in a spaceship at 99.5% speed of light for a period of 5 years,
Returns back to Earth to find himself to be only 20 years old.
But to his surprise he finds, his twin brother on Earth who was left behind, has reached the ripe age of 65 !

Limitations of Special Theory of Relativity:
It was confined to non-accelerating bodies only, and after ten years of deliberation,
Einstein added gravitational force field, space-time curvature, and acceleration, -
To formulate his General Theory of Relativity with satisfaction.

   SPACE-TIME & GENERAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY 1916 :
Isaac Newton during the 17th Century spoke about 'absolute time' and 'absolute space', accordance to the understanding of science of his Classical Age.
Space was the arena where the drama of the universe was played out, and this arena was passive, eternal, and unchanging no doubt.
Time too was absolute with an independent existence, and continued to beat independently like the heart beat of Space!
Newton also gave us the Laws of Motion, and Gravity, with more massive objects exerting more Gravity than a less massive one in reality.
Now one aspect of Special Relativity is that space and time are merged into a four-dimensional space-time entity,
They do not exist as separately as envisaged by Newton and Descartes during the 17th Century.
Some 250 years later Albert Einstein, defined Gravity as a curvature of Space-time.
Einstein also tells us that gravity can bend light, which travels along the curvature of this space-time.
Gravity is flexible, it could stretch like a fabric warping of space-time caused by objects present within it, in fact Gravity is the shape of space-time itself!
The Moon rolls around the curvature created in space-time fabric by the heavier object the Earth,
Just like the massive Sun which creates the depression and curvature around it for the planets of our solar system to orbit round the Sun. *
Einstein’s space-time has been likened to a stretched out vast rubber sheet,
Where heavier the planet, more depression it creates on the fabric of space-time along with its own gravitational field.
Einstein’s Space is not passive like that of Newton, but has a dynamic presence.
Interwoven with Time, Space tells Matter how to move, while Matter tells Space-Time how to curve - in this dynamic presence!
The constant speed of light at 186,000 miles per second, is just a measure of space of something which travels over time;
But both space and time had to adjust themselves to accommodate the constant speed of light!
Thus space, time, and the speed of light are all unified in the General Theory of Relativity,
We owe all this to Albert Einstein, one of the greatest scientists of our Century.
NOTES: **Planets orbiting the Sun do not fall back into the void of space due to the attraction of gravity, and also due to their individual speed of acceleration maintained in orbit as per Kepler's Second Law of Planetary Motion. Mercury has the fastest orbital speed of 48 km per second, Venus at 35 km per sec , and Earth at 30 km per sec. as their orbital speeds. Planets further from the Sun require lesser orbital speed.

UNFINISHED WORK OF EINSTEIN:
During his later years Einstein was secretly working to find a ‘Theory of Everything’,
Which would ultimately replace the erratic tiny micro world of Quantum Mechanics.
His Theory of General Relativity had dealt with the functions of gravity at the greater macro level of the universe only.
So he hoped to extend this theory to find an all embracing Unified Field Theory.
For at the subatomic quantum level, as the Englishman Thomson discovered in 1897,
The electrons inside an atom at times behaved in an alien fashion and were very unstable!
This world of the subatomic particles is a wondrous world where time becomes chaotic;
Where the position of the electrons cannot be predicted with certainty!
Einstein called this unpredictable and unstable behaviour of electrons as "spooky action at a distance"!
In the ‘double-split experiment’ it was seen, that the light photons behaved both like waves and as particles, -
Even though the speed of light remained constant.

EINSTEIN'S NOBLE PRIZE For PHYSICS AWARDED IN 1921:
Now despite Einstein's dissatisfaction with Quantum Mechanics it is rather ironical,
That the Nobel Prize in Physics was awarded to Einstein for his work on the ‘Photoelectric Effect’ at the Quantum level;
Which for the first time had suggested that Light travelled in Waves and also as Particles ( i.e. as photon)!
This observation led to the development of electron microscope, solar panels, night vision devices, at a later date.
Since his Special and General Theory of Relativity considered as ‘The Pillars of Modern Physics’, was still being examined by the Scientific Community;
And they could be proved and accepted only subsequently.

'STRING THEORY' PROPOSED AS THEORY FOR EVERYTHING:
During the 1970s the proponents of ‘String Theory’ had claimed, They found a Theory of Everything, following Einstein’s quest.
They claimed that micro vibrating open and closed looped strings gave rise to some 36 particles at the subatomic level;
But also required 10 dimensions for this 'String Theory' to operate!
In our Standard Model of Physics we have only 18 particles as on date, therefore due to lack of scientific evidence,
There was no Noble Prize for those ‘String Theory’ proponents!
Efforts are on to find a Unified Theory of Everything, and to understand the mysteries of God’s infinite universe, -
We finite humans have just made a beginning!

Now, to reduce the length of my composition I conclude with a short verse by the famous novelist and poet DH Lawrence, -
Who had shocked Victorian England with his explosive ****** novel “Lady Chatterley’s Lover”,
Which later inspired Hollywood, and a film got made.

               RELATIVITY
“I like relativity and quantum theories
because I don’t understand them,
and they make me feel as if space shifted about like
a swan that can’t settle,
refusing to sit still and be measured;
and as if the atom were an impulsive thing
always changing its mind.”  – DH Lawrence.

Thanks for reading patiently,
‘All Copy Rights Are With The Author Only’, - Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

Some introductory food for thought...

"Threats to freedom of speech, writing and action, though often trivial in isolation, are cumulative in their effect and, unless checked, lead to a general disrespect for the rights of the citizen"
  - George Orwell

"There is only three states of being. There is slavery, tyranny, those are both forms of conflict, or negotiation. Negotiation depends on freedom of speech and you have to be able to talk to people if you are not going to fight with them or capitulate to them."
  - Jordan Peterson

"If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”
  - George Orwell


The key proponents of the Bill and it's context...
On the 18th October 2016, Bill C-16 received Royal assent in Canada, despite having a small, but thorough opposition, even from those within the LGBT community who felt that the proponents of the Bill did not represent their desires, but that of the most extreme and ideological spectrum of their community. A prominent figure in the opposition to the Bill was Jordan Peterson, a Professor of Psychology at the University of Toronto, who has dedicated a great length of time in study into the **** and Soviet regimes of the past, paying particular attention to the ideological and psychological elements of those periods, which has built his principles as strongly opposed to ideological thought, Postmodernism and Marxism, all of which were instrumental or played roles in the mass genocidal regimes of the early 20th century that began with the subjugation of ideas and speech.

The Bill's implementation is an amendment to the Ontario Human Rights Code that makes the refusal by an individual to refer to someone by their preferred gender pronouns a hate crime. It also brands discrimination by 'gender expression' with the same impunity. To those who do not understand what these concepts mean, essentially what the gender pronoun debate is, is how a minority of the LGBT community demand they be refereed to by different pronouns, and have their gender expression (fashion choice) protected by law. For instance, those who claim not to fit into the binary gender pronouns (he/she) and therefor don't identify as either a man or a woman, wish to be refereed to with artificial neologisms such as ve, they and them.

These demands, however, are not being made by the majority of LGBT people, but a small minority of people, mostly younger students who've been indoctrinated into postmodern and social Marxist ideology. This means that the Canadian government is taking the most extreme representation of a group as the representatives of the entire group, which would be like taking the **** Party as a valid representation of Germans, or the British Olympic squad as representatives of the standard fitness of the entire British public. This is a key focus of opponents to the Bill, like Prof. Peterson who recognises (being an employee of a University himself) that Bills like these are the result of borderline indoctrination in the Universities, and not the demands of LGBT people in general.  


The innate authoritarianism of the bill and it's Marxist/Postmodern motives...
Why are the proponents of this Bill innately authoritarian in nature? Well, as Professor Jordan Peterson makes the clear distinction, that unlike other forms of what is deemed hate speech in law, that enforces what you CAN NOT say, this Bill enforces WHAT YOU MUST SAY. As an example, Holocaust denial is considered hate speech, and so you can not express such a position, however, here you are now forced to speak words that you might not want to say, something far more Orwellian that one might be able to conceive when concerning a seemingly trivial enforcement, and having often spoken of gradualism, this is certainly not the end of the issue.

What is also concerning is that the supporters of the Bill are evidently ideologically motivated, in terms that their ideology (Marxist/Postmodern) is in itself authoritarian in nature, and as they fail to gain support by ideas, they suppress them. Law like this should not be able to slide through the apparatus of the State this easily, for it conveys on many levels a lack of respect for the generations of people who suffered under despotic rule for centuries until finally the rule of law gave them rights (and now we throw them away). It also shows to those more nefarious groups, that the public will not blink, even when you chip away at their right to speak as they choose, which I don't believe is a habit that should be maintained.


- a short essay by FabiusSideman

Here is a primer on the history of poetry

Features of Modernism

To varying extents, writing of the Modernist period exhibits these features:

1. experimentation

belief that previous writing was stereotyped and inadequate
ceaseless technical innovation, sometimes for its own sake
originality: deviation from the norm, or from usual reader expectations
ruthless rejection of the past, even iconoclasm

2. anti-realism

sacralisation of art, which must represent itself, not something beyond preference for allusion (often private) rather than description
world seen through the artist's inner feelings and mental states
themes and vantage points chosen to question the conventional view
use of myth and unconscious forces rather than motivations of conventional plot

3. individualism

promotion of the artist's viewpoint, at the expense of the communal
cultivation of an individual consciousness, which alone is the final arbiter
estrangement from religion, nature, science, economy or social mechanisms
maintenance of a wary intellectual independence
artists and not society should judge the arts: extreme self-consciousness
search for the primary image, devoid of comment: stream of consciousness
exclusiveness, an aristocracy of the avant-garde

4. intellectualism

writing more cerebral than emotional
work is tentative, analytical and fragmentary, more posing questions more than answering them
cool observation: viewpoints and characters detached and depersonalized
open-ended work, not finished, nor aiming at formal perfection
involuted: the subject is often act of writing itself and not the ostensible referent

............
Expressionism

Expressionism was a phase of twentieth-century writing that rejected naturalism and romanticism to express important inner truths. The style was generally declamatory or even apocalyptic, endeavoring to awaken the fears and aspirations that belong to all men, and which European civilization had rendered effete or inauthentic. The movement drew on Rimbaud and Nietzsche, and was best represented by German poetry of the 1910-20 period. Benn, Becher, Heym, Lasker-Schüler, Stadler, Stramm, Schnack and Werfel are its characteristic proponents, {1} though Trakl is the best known to English readers. {2} {3}

Like most movements, there was little of a manifesto, or consensus of beliefs and programmes. Many German poets were distrustful of contemporary society — particularly its commercial and capitalist attitudes — though others again saw technology as the escape from a perceived "crisis in the old order". Expressionism was very heterogeneous, touching base with Imagism, Vorticism, Futurism, Dadaism and early Surrealism, many of which crop up in English, French, Russian and Italian poetry of the period. Political attitudes tended to the revolutionary, and technique was overtly experimental. Nonetheless, for all the images of death and destruction, sometimes mixed with messianic utopianism, there was also a tone of resignation, a sadness of "the evening lands" as Spengler called them.

Expressionism also applies to painting, and here the characteristics are more illuminating. The label refers to painting that uses visual gestures to transmit emotions and emotionally charged messages. In the expressive work of Michelangelo and El Greco, for example, the content remains of first importance, but content is overshadowed by technique in such later artists as van Gogh, Ensor and Munch. By the mid twentieth-century even this attenuated content had been replaced by abstract painterly qualities — by the sheer scale and dimensions of the work, by colour and shape, by the verve of the brushwork and other effects.

Expressionism often coincided with rapid social change. Germany, after suffering the horrors of the First World War, and ineffectual governments afterwards, fragmented into violently opposed political movements, each with their antagonistic coteries and milieu. The painting of these groups was very variable, but often showed a mixture of aggression and naivety. Understandably unpopular with the establishment  — denounced as degenerate by the Nazis — the style also met with mixed reactions from the picture-buying public. It seemed to question what the middle classes stood for: convention, decency, professional expertise. A great sobbing child had been let loose in the artist's studio, and the results seemed elementally challenging. Perhaps German painting was returning to its Nordic roots, to small communities, apocalyptic visions, monotone starkness and anguished introspection.

What could poetry achieve in its turn? Could it use some equivalent to visual gestures, i.e. concentrate on aspects of the craft of poetry, and to the exclusion of content? Poetry can never be wholly abstract, a pure poetry bereft of content. But clearly there would be a rejection of naturalism. To represent anything faithfully requires considerable skill, and such skill was what the Expressionists were determined to avoid. That would call on traditions that were not Nordic, and that were not sufficiently opposed to bourgeois values for the writer's individuality to escape subversion. Raw power had to tap something deeper and more universal.

Hence the turn inward to private torments. Poets became the judges of poetry, since only they knew the value of originating emotions. Intensity was essential.  Artists had to believe passionately in their responses, and find ways of purifying and deepening those responses — through working practices, lifestyles, and philosophies. Freud was becoming popular, and his investigations into dreams, hallucinations and paranoia offered a rich field of exploration. Artists would have to glory in their isolation, moreover, and turn their anger and frustration at being overlooked into a belief in their own genius. Finally, there would be a need to pull down and start afresh, even though that contributed to a gradual breakdown in the social fabric and the apocalypse of the Second World War.

Expressionism is still with us. Commerce has invaded bohemia, and created an elaborate body of theory to justify, support and overtake what might otherwise appear infantile and irrational. And if traditional art cannot be pure emotional expression, then a new art would have to be forged. Such poetry would not be an intoxication of life (Nietzsche's phrase) and still less its sanctification.  Great strains on the creative process were inevitable, moreover, as they were in Georg Trakl's case, who committed suicide shortly after writing the haunting and beautiful piece given below

................
SYMBOLIST POETS
symbolism in poetry

Symbolism in literature was a complex movement that deliberately extended the evocative power of words to express the feelings, sensations and states of mind that lie beyond everyday awareness. The open-ended symbols created by Charles Baudelaire (1821-67) brought the invisible into being through the visible, and linked the invisible through other sensory perceptions, notably smell and sound. Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-98), the high priest of the French movement, theorized that symbols were of two types. One was created by the projection of inner feelings onto the world outside. The other existed as nascent words that slowly permeated the consciousness and expressed a state of mind initially unknown to their originator.

None of this came about without cultivation, and indeed dedication. Poets focused on the inner life. They explored strange cults and countries. They wrote in allusive, enigmatic, musical and ambiguous styles. Rimbaud deranged his senses and declared "Je est un autre". Von Hofmannstahl created his own language. Valéry retired from the world as a private secretary, before returning to a mastery of traditional French verse. Rilke renounced wife and human society to be attentive to the message when it came.

Not all were great theoreticians or technicians, but the two interests tended to go together, in Mallarmé most of all. He painstakingly developed his art of suggestion, what he called his "fictions". Rare words were introduced, syntactical intricacies, private associations and baffling images. Metonymy replaced metaphor as symbol, and was in turn replaced by single words which opened in imagination to multiple levels of signification. Time was suspended, and the usual supports of plot and narrative removed. Even the implied poet faded away, and there were then only objects, enigmatically introduced but somehow made right and necessary by verse skill. Music indeed was the condition to which poetry aspired, and Verlaine, Jimenez and Valéry were among many who concentrated efforts to that end.

So appeared a dichotomy between the inner and outer lives. In actuality, poets led humdrum existences, but what they described was rich and often illicit: the festering beauties of courtesans and dance-hall entertainers; far away countries and their native peoples; a world-weariness that came with drugs, isolation, alcohol and bought ***. Much was mixed up in this movement — decadence, aestheticism, romanticism, and the occult — but its isms had a rational purpose, which is still pertinent. In what way are these poets different from our own sixties generation? Or from the young today: clubbing, experimenting with relationships and drugs, backpacking to distant parts? And was the mixing of sensory perceptions so very novel or irrational? Synaesthesia was used by the Greek poets, and indeed has a properly documented basis in brain physiology.

What of the intellectual bases, which are not commonly presented as matters that should engage the contemporary mind, still less the writing poet? Symbolism was built on nebulous and somewhat dubious notions: it inspired beautiful and historically important work: it is now dead: that might be the blunt summary. But Symbolist poetry was not empty of content, indeed expressed matters of great interest to continental philosophers, then and now. The contents of consciousness were the concern of Edmund Husserl (1859-1938), and he developed a terminology later employed by Heidegger (1889-1976), the Existentialists and hermeneutics. Current theories on metaphor and brain functioning extend these concepts, and offer a rapprochement between impersonal science and irrational literary theory.

So why has the Symbolism legacy dwindled into its current narrow concepts? Denied influence in the everyday world, poets turned inward, to private thoughts, associations and the unconscious. Like good Marxist intellectuals they policed the area they arrogated to themselves, and sought to correct and purify the language that would evoke its powers. Syntax was rearranged by Mallarmé. Rhythm, rhyme and stanza patterning were loosened or rejected. Words were purged of past associations (Modernism), of non-visual associations (Imagism), of histories of usage (Futurism), of social restraint (Dadaism) and of practical purpose (Surrealism). By a sort of belated Romanticism, poetry was returned to the exploration of the inner lands of the irrational. Even Postmodernism, with its bric-a-brac of received media images and current vulgarisms, ensures that gaps are left for the emerging unconscious to engage our interest

......................

.
IMAGIST POETRY
imagist poetry

Even by twentieth-century standards, Imagism was soon over. In 1912 Ezra Pound published the Complete Poetical Works of its founder, T.E. Hulme (five short poems) and by 1917 the movement, then overseen by Amy Lowell, had run its course. {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} The output in all amounted to a few score poems, and none of these captured the public's heart. Why the importance?

First there are the personalities involved — notably Ezra Pound, James Joyce, William Carlos Williams {6} {7} {8} {9} — who became famous later. If ever the (continuing) importance to poets of networking, of being involved in movements from their inception, is attested, it is in these early days of post-Victorian revolt.

Then there are the manifestos of the movement, which became the cornerstones of Modernism, responsible for a much taught in universities until recently, and for the difficulties poets still find themselves in. The Imagists stressed clarity, exactness and concreteness of detail. Their aims, briefly set out, were that:

1. Content should be presented directly, through specific images where possible.
2. Every word should be functional, with nothing included that was not essential to the effect intended.
3. Rhythm should be composed by the musical phrase rather than the metronome.

Also understood — if not spelled out, or perhaps fully recognized at the time — was the hope that poems could intensify a sense of objective reality through the immediacy of images.

Imagism itself gave rise to fairly negligible lines like:

You crash over the trees,
You crack the live branch…  (Storm by H.D.)

Nonetheless, the reliance on images provided poets with these types of freedom:

1. Poems could dispense with classical rhetoric, emotion being generated much more directly through what Eliot called an objective correlate: "The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked." {10}

2. By being shorn of context or supporting argument, images could appear with fresh interest and power.

3. Thoughts could be treated as images, i.e. as non-discursive elements that added emotional colouring without issues of truth or relevance intruding too mu
...............
PROSE BASED POETRY
prose based poetry

When free verse lacks rhythmic patterning, appearing as a lineated prose stripped of unnecessary ornament and rhetoric, it becomes the staple of much contemporary work. The focus is on what the words are being used to say, and their authenticity. The language is not heightened, and the poem differs from prose only by being more self-aware, innovative and/or cogent in its exposition.

Nonetheless, what looks normal at first becomes challenging on closer reading — thwarting expectations, and turning back on itself to make us think more deeply about the seemingly innocuous words used. And from there we are compelled to look at the world with sharper eyes, unprotected by commonplace phrases or easy assumptions. Often an awkward and fighting poetry, therefore, not indulging in ceremony or outmoded traditions.
What is Prose?

If we say that contemporary free verse is often built from what was once regarded as mere prose, then we shall have to distinguish prose from poetry, which is not so easy now. Prose was once the lesser vehicle, the medium of everyday thought and conversation, what we used to express facts, opinions, humour, arguments, feelings and the like. And while the better writers developed individual styles, and styles varied according to their purpose and social occasion, prose of some sort could be written by anyone. Beauty was not a requirement, and prose articles could be rephrased without great loss in meaning or effectiveness.

Poetry, though, had grander aims. William Lyon Phelps on Thomas Hardy's work: {1}

"The greatest poetry always transports us, and although I read and reread the Wessex poet with never-lagging attention — I find even the drawings in "Wessex Poems" so fascinating that I wish he had illustrated all his books — I am always conscious of the time and the place. I never get the unmistakable spinal chill. He has too thorough a command of his thoughts; they never possess him, and they never soar away with him. Prose may be controlled, but poetry is a possession. Mr. Hardy is too keenly aware of what he is about. In spite of the fact that he has written verse all his life, he seldom writes unwrinkled song. He is, in the last analysis, a master of prose who has learned the technique of verse, and who now chooses to express his thoughts and his observations in rime and rhythm."

.............
OPEN FORMS IN POETRY
open forms in poetry

Poets who write in open forms usually insist on the form growing out of the writing process, i.e. the poems follow what the words and phrase suggest during the composition

To mama's home, when-ever my mister
starts acting cool, unto how many years
ever to straighten him out:
Can you promise to ensure this for me,
proponents of marriage by love?
I've been brought up like a princess by
my father, so dare not propose to me if
you cannot manage the same and
then shut the door to my mama's home!
I'll marry whomever my father chooses
aren't all ram the same otherwise-
Until de-horned and de-bearded my man
mama's home every now and then,
gifts for every festival, weddings
and merry occasions, my cradle
to fall back on, if life does rock my swing:
So, proponents of marriage by love,
dare not propose to me
if you cannot give me the same
and yet shut the door to my mama's home.

The birth-throes of adulthood is alteration unto its/our own state, the formation and growth of neural connections straining our minds, the brain adapting to phenomena in space and time, deeming it experience. It is this process I reckon to be consciousness.

It was only after adolescence I could begin to understand qualia. During this period my brain was busy going through the teenage 'motions of neurochemical upheaval. My mind was far too young to understand what it intuitively grasped. Something was memorable, meaningless, its qualities stuck in mind. This was how I began to understand qualia, meaningless memories which I treasured beyond measure without knowing why, the essence of nostalgia.

During this time emotion was a mysterious thing I could only feel as coming from my own experiencing ego, not as something occurring between two animals which one alone can never understand (though the narcissist might dispute that). Take love, an attachment, certainly an altered-state, a modifier of behavior, the serotonergic system implicit in its proper function (and if we're lucky, some oxytocin).

We'll hold this for further discussion.
Now for something mildly intresting.

My introduction and use of psychoactives was typical if quite comprehensive (and of course it felt 'special', I still feel this). Fascinated by what substances could do to elicit qualia (though no doubt unable to elucidate this) I lost myself thoroughly, great attracted to the culture around them. This accompanying ethos I could not hope to comprehend took me in its stride. At first I had no reservations as to indulgence, which taught me a few hard lessons. Later I would catch a rare glimpse of this ethos in its motions, gleaming it on occasion.

These times gave rise to specific feeling, recreation followed by reading into the neuroscience brought about a knowledge of some sort. The neurochemicals represented what my experiences were founded upon but not what they were.
I knew them in theory and from practice upon my consciousness,
This knowledge stayed with me long after my 'research' had finished. I would recognise familiar mental sensations in occasional sober interactions, minor alterations in mind brought on by certain foodstuffs (or lack thereof).

What does this answer in relation to qualia?
It tells us that moments are qualitatively conditioned by the given physical constraints.
What power mind and/or brain have over each other remains to be seen, as does the will's constituents and how it comes into being. Does it boil down to binary, exponential subject-object distinctions giving rise to abstract properties? Answers to the question of meta-consciousness continue to elude us.

We hypothesize that the given conditioning can evoke
a certain magnitude of qualia. We assert that qualia exist
to the extent that belief does (and is) but that they are ascribed
to experience by presentation rather than representation.
Belief and desire are propositional whereas qualia are proponents thereof which feedback into behavior, belief and desire.

Tentatively, we suggest that qualia might be measured in term analogous to wave patterns and spectral density while individual quale might be respective to individual neuronal constructs within the neuroplastic structure of the brain.

In this way a given pathway corresponds to a certain experience/memory.

Application of misinformation
Falsify a failed nation,
Eradication of all creation
Misinterpretation
Of representation
Deny the station
Granted by occupation
And the inhalation
Of justification
No prerequisite information
Just accumulation
No moderation,
Their determination
Through stimulation
Cultural *******
Communal degradation
Societal desecration,
Dehumanizing revocation,
Worldly humiliation,
Mortal sterilization
Never achieving mobilization
Lack of communication
Excelling in vile persuasion,
Proponents of procreation
Birthing digitization,
Destroy civilization,
Indications of adoration
Isolation in delineation,
Irrational indexation,
Fluctuating indignation,
No innovation,
Divination
Retaliation,
Immolation,
False ovation,
Lacking limitations,
Contextual intonation,
Divine fabrication,
Private publication,
Evolving fornication,
Give me extermination,
Notwithstanding annexation
Of dismaying oxidation,
Of valued perpetuation,
Global mass-castration,
Redundant rhetoric, dictation,
A donation, a dilation, a fixation,
An annotation of fibrillation,
We are personification
Of Contamination
Through globalization
Praising idolization
And finalization
Through *******,
No pragmatic exoneration,
In all frustration
We see not utilization
Nor stabilization,
Fearful implications
Of wayward stations,
Surplus mutilations,
Seeking militarization
Of worthless nations,
No conservation,
Just excavation
Of the population
******* on education,
Spitting on graduation,
No validation of aspiration,
Indoctrination of baptization
Mitigating litigation,
murdering habitation,
Quelling all vegetation
We will end in radiation
Through faulty navigation,
Abdication and abnegation,
All worldly agitation
Leads us to expiration,
Self-made annihilation.
There was never an end in sight,
We’re lost, and hope is a lie.

it can be nothing but a deviation from modern
       concerns -
i was once in a pub, drinking a beer -
and this medical student turns to me and asks:
- if you could be a god, which one would you want to be?
        without resistance, without hesitance the reply?
- hades!
            of all venerated beings - his: the sole "phatom"
so feared that no palace of worship was
              erected; that's right: no temple in his name;
but just imagine my shock: a medical student
who supposed the existence of gods -
                    and yet in a society where there are these
diaper atheists... these biologists
                        and physicists - these proponents:
they really take the romance out of the universe -
              and here is this hippocratic oath adherent
and he's inclined to believe in the gods:
             for the sole purpose that he can manage
complicated tasks on the "microscopic" stage -
                                         in his niche -
                           while on the macro-plataeu
he's like:             well nothing explains nothing,
or the many other nothings.
                                  rare to see a plural form
                                                  of that singularity.
but of course: the mere thought contemplating the gods
is comforting - evidently we're not the people
to suggest or enforce a ritual to sacrifice one's time
with a duty of prayer -
                           walk into any monotheistic temple
and film the lunatics... sober lunatics: which is worse
than watching intoxicated lunatics dancing as if
they might be enthralled by the concept of prayer.
       just looking through the aeneid glossary -
can you even imagine if they will someday unearth
skeleton of centaurs? obviously you could only
unearth dinosaurs first, however much you push down
in geological terms: the older remains are unearthed
first, that's the tectonic dynamic: older comes first -
             in organic terms: skeletons are, after all: organic
materials... and centaurs might not be an ease
metaphor to stomach after some time -
                                       but what is the darwinistic
improbabilty of their existence, that once was, but now
isn't?         what is the darwinistic improbability?
             it's about time we force these questions,
since darwinism has lost all of its scientific sensibility
and has become level-tier with marxism in
       the battleground of culture - it has finally caught
up with marxism as a cultural impetus.
                         yet peering into the aeneid glossary
i had to invent at least one god, and one river of hades -
a. acheron - the river of grief
      b. cocytys - the river of wailing
  c. eridanus - a river leading into the underworld
d. gela - the river of laughter
   e. lethe - the river of forgetfulness
     f. styx - the river of hate
  g. ucalegon - the river of uncaring.

              what is indicated: i once had the idea to
compete with the styx - the river borrowed from german:
the zunge - or the river of tongues -
                        perhaps idle talk, the river of gossip -
or of those who drank from it: became prone to
the whisper of the god janus - the two faced god,
who, upon ushering his two tongue's into
      the drinker's mind: split the drinker's mind in half.
yet i find the concept of the river ucalegon
more befitting to this realm... named so after a trojan
warrior - still, the literal, simply: not caring;
                                          and do the dead care?
if the living can only muster a cult of the grave -
                   but not the cult of memory -
                                       no wonder so many pass into
the shades, through sheer neglect in organic remains
of their legacy.
     so of this god?
                              well, narcissus and his brother
                      solipssus -
but there is another, akin to the ancient diety of the latins,
namely quirinus (romulus deified?) - rooted
     by origin in quirus - meaning spear.
       i really can understand plagiarism on a polytheistic
scale, how zeus became jove, how kronos became saturn,
    how pilumnus has no greek equivalent -
   how hades became pluto -
                      that i can understand, a plagiarism
on a polytheistic scale... but what happens on a monotheistic
scale? tyranny against the mind!
                enforced labour for a mere sake of an argument,
what happened when the qu'ran was written.
                      and since we're on the topic:
słowianin - słowo
            and the horrid english slav( ) with a supposed
missing limb of                                e...
     again: know your mother and of that earth speak
the tongue - it is derived from, quiet simply word...
so we are wordsmiths first, keen workers? sure.
                         but wordsmiths first - in essence -
         and indeed, if there was the ancient italian god
           quirinus -
                           it would seem natural for the opposite
of a spear, akin to the maxim: the pen is mightier than
the sword...   ergo?
                                          quill...
      ­                              and the diety?
                                                          ­       Quilios.
           for a silesian peasant, that might translate
into regional idiom as -                        Piórkowiak:
patron of god of poets, with enough ***** to conjure
                         such explanations - that those in
the hippocratic community might appreciate, even they
can... but obviously, the cultural darwinists
                          have but one answer, and it's almost
       akin to the islamic dictatorial stance for defining
                              what culture is, and what culture isn't;
sensible? was it really about sense & sensibility?
                  maybe for jane austen is was... not here... not now!

p.s. Quilios, as combined from qui (who)
          but also borrowing from heliocentric -
                  or simply helios: sun -
                              writing illuminates: or, (he)
                                                           who illuminates.

The mix and match of minds at hand with attitudes diverse
compel me to make comment that some may find adverse,
Some may find a reason to launch to fierce attack
Whilst others choose to spectate sipping beer and sitting back.

It seems we have proponents of a new unsubtle mix
Who breeze in with their verbal fangs and talons fiercely fixed,
Who at the slightest pretext take offence and go to war
Leaving innocence astounded, open mouthed, upon the floor.

Some here  can handle criticism, others clearly can't
And some perceive this helpful and others simply shan't,
But our greatest single asset is this freedom flow of words
where opinions and convictions are divested and diverged,
Where compliments and attitudes should be taken in our stride
And barking, fierce rejoiners must, perhaps... remain outside.

Ruffled feathers agitate but few intend offence
Interpretations differ... but in truth, with common sense,
Accommodation can be made without hot anger's flame
So let's bury the invective and get on with Shakespeare's game.

M.

All I ever wanted
was to be a gentleman.
What if those gentlemen I
aspired towards are proponents
of a patriarchal life-world.
Where does hope ever leave me?
All anyone ever wanted
was to be good. I know
I'm one of the bad guys. So it goes.

Might as well tell a joke befitting:
Why did god give man two nostrils?

A small bump of 4-MEC
[4-MethylEthCathinone]
It is a fairly typical
substituted cathinone.
Pleasant enough and
without excessive
tachycardia at
lower doses.

A little line
of Ketamine
goes down
well as
a chaser,
It put me
at ease after
the stim's quick-
fire breeze. I fall
into tranquility
but it's not the hole
we're all searching for.

My mate sneezes.

somewhere along the lines, a pre-script revelation by dumb'oh: because painting deals with nudes in all seriousness and soberness, music explains the coupling of violins etc. to an ******... writing, in its depth has to deal with the murk and muck of thoughts and emotions - poetry as such entices an anarchistic spontaneity against any categorisation and systematisation, who's chief proponents are the pillars of reason, psychology and philosophy systematise, tell you the plans of the house, tell you what the limits and excess are... poetry in its anarchism teaches you nothing but experience and how to exploit it - as nietzsche pointed out: a shamelessness towards experience.*

i could, i mean, technically make
poetry cut-clean and smartly dressed,
sigh O sighing and star gazing,
i could masquerade what i'm about
write, but then i sometimes do like
cleaving meat off a bone using a blunt
knife, for that lion's tooth feeling
of having to use the molars (yes,
the canines are all kosher, they stab you
and the lion waits for you to slowly
bleed out - no sadism on his part,
no industrial death syndicate with
iron maidens, racks, a blunt sword
that hacked a few times at ******
mary's head on the scaffold - they executed
the ones they loved with a sharp sword,
mary's head was chopped off using
something as sharp as a toothpick, terrible
scene) - where was i? ah yes, blunt things,
blunt knife cleaving off meat from the bone
(a hellish follow-up if you're dicing the
meat for a curry) -
so this lion is the kosher butcher, he doesn't
do insect digestion, no spider-web cocooning
(is that an anaesthetic aphrodisiac you're
injecting so you eat me while i sleep? grand) -
so he bleed the **** thing out,
he's not some inverse necrophiliac in want
of wanting to see the thing he's about to eat
watching itself get eaten - another time,
another place;
unlike painting and composing music, writing
doesn't really have ****** perks when it
comes to it - oddly enough writing is a
pseudo-celibacy - now this is where the bluntness
comes in - i mean bach ****** and fathered
about a dozen children, mozart too, picasso for sure,
but writing is hardly a form that allows
the healthiest *** lives of what painters enjoy,
there's no aeroplane or lightning-thunder mechanics,
you know when you see a plane and "think"
you see it 20 miles behind, when it fact it's the
gurgling lazy tentacle flapping about from the
engines lagging behind - first lightning, then
the thunder - well, writing is the thunder and
the 20 mile lag of the aeroplane - i don't know
why music fits in with painting in terms of
being classified in the former, but it does,
it's a passive excursion into the art - you don't
need to play an instrument these days,
the ****'s just there for you to be bothered enough
to listen to it - i know, i know, audio-books,
never listened to one - but such passive appreciation
i'd only recommend to the blind, unless proficient
in braille, more than two volumes of the work done...
so bluntness... well writing is comfortable with
that other form of ****** gratification, your own,
like today: i was on Onan's throne (a toilet),
wiped my *** after taking a **** and thought
about not utilising my imagination, rather,
using what i call the perfected debasement of
*******: gifs - i can't glorify *******,
but i need something to act like a plug-hole
for the imagination to be pristine - and .gifs
are the perfect way to use it (after all, it is there
for something): no fetish, no ***** leather,
gimps out the question, ****** mind you too,
no teen, not fatty boom boom, no she-male -
whatever, you know it's out there -
but then my neighbour started singing in the
bath... the walls are thin... yes... thin enough
to hear what's going on next door...
now that put me off altogether... couldn't do it...
not that it annoyed me, not even in the slightest,
i can't do those kind of robotics with my
neighbour's "soprano" washing herself in the bath...
just, couldn't, do, it - sulky mood? not really -
but the moral of the story:
               the debasement of *******
               given that feminism
               proposes that ******* is debasing...
hey, i'm not the rich ******* with a mansion
bored and working out a steady income.

points keep me
In the lines
Of fire
Debate and
War
Altogether

Proponents of the plague
Henchman
Obedient cogs in the endless wheel
Blooddrunk money ******
We feel your oppressive ways
Your boot against our neck
Your hand in our pocket
Your lidless eye on us
Your lash upon our back
Your hunger to enslave the next generation

Hide the Children

One on either side
Solo soldier on patrol
In trim n’ grim conundrum
At fenced tensed border
None else but free air at site
Nothing but sky in sight
Save barbarous barricade
Sun at times offensive
Soil barren run apprehensive
Sons of the soil slog
In salute to national cause absolute

Solitude stealing tranquility
Dull days along pulled hard
Lonely opponents on spot
Smiley proponents in slot
Sipped grace and gossiped
In instant friendship
To face border’s boredom
Bordering nations’ notions
Belied order of human relations
Oh! A foe in need is the friend in deed.

When I was coming up
momma and daddy both said
"Finish your plate, son.  Eat the rest!"
More often than not there'd be something
I didn't like, or didn't like enough
and momma or daddy one would say
"Finish your plate.  Eat the rest!"

I'd eat a little more, ask to be excused,
momma or daddy would see my remnants
"Eat the rest, child!  Eat the rest!"
I'd eat a bit more. "May I be excused?"
"Listen to me, son, you best eat the rest!"
So I'd sit there, pitiful like, and eat the rest.

Reflecting on this, I am keenly aware
proponents on both sides argue 'beware'
Forcing a child to always finish their plate
can lead to obesity's worrisome fate
But letting them stop whenever they want
selfishly teaches life's lessons to flaunt

It doesn't matter which side you're on
I'll agree with you so let's move on
There's a deeper darker side to this
that I need to mention lest I be remiss
After year's of being told to eat the rest
is it possible I actually consumed "my rest"?

The rest I seek when I try to take a nap
The rest I pursue when I wear my CPAP
The rest that eludes me at work or at play
The question my wife asks me every day:

"Honey, were you able to get any rest?"

No, dear.  When I was a kid, I was forced to
finish my plate and eat the rest, so there's
none to be found.  I done ate it all.




© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

We try to stick to canned goods these days.
Not that it’s particularly easy, mind you,
As the expiry dates have come and gone;
You have to have a feel for what ages well
And what simply can’t be trusted.
Some of the stuff in jars is OK, if the seal’s good
And it hasn’t had too much unnaturally bright light or heat.
Sometimes, in frustration or fear or just plain madness,
We’ll grab a couple of pieces of fruit or berries
Straight from a tree or bush
(Just a brief, guilty nibble, mind you,
As our wiring for self-preservation quickly takes over,
Though that’s akin to insanity in itself;
Indeed, a considerable number of people
Won’t even consider stepping outside anymore.)

We have come to this place, then,
Carrying our threadbare blankets,
Our dented and dinged peas and garbonzos
To this portentously lush locale
(Nature’s metamorphosis, now running in overdrive,
Having its winners among its throng of losers,
Sitting among a recklessness of flowers
Which have smartened themselves up
In sizes and hues heretofore unknown)
As what passes for evening takes hold
(The daytime air so stultifying and adulterated
They don’t even bother issuing warnings and advisories any more.)
We watch the odd, unsettling out-of-place aurorae,
Not giving utterance to the obvious—is this the one?—
But choosing to soft-shoe our way through the hours
With small talk, the odd kiss and cuddle
(There are those who have taken the humanity of affection
Beyond the merely foolhardy or oblivious,
Cults of propagation comprised of odd Gnostic outliers,
Dreamy and staunch proponents of extraterrestrial rescuers.)
As the darkness takes hold, we lift our faces to the stars
(For the nights are always starry,
Clouds being relegated to only memory)
And as they sit above us, stark, awesome in the oldest sense,
It is hard not to think of what an ancient man
Wrote of one equally ancient to him,
That though they have seen the totality of our folly,
They remain wholly without fault.

Government secrets undermine democracy
in the same way lies undermine honesty
by circumventing accountability
at the expense of truth and credibility.
As citizens we should have a say in decisions
which is impossible when they’re clandestine.
Proponents say that’s why we have a representative democracy
we choose who handles our secerets
which is fair enough I guess
but once the secrets start *******
how are we supposed to know who should represent us
when we don’t even know what they’re doing?

It was immaterial who had fired the first proverbial shot in the great Schenectady logomachy.
What was immediately clear, however, after the proverbial dust had proverbially settled
was that the battle had left no survivors.

Proverbially.

And what had begun as a simple ballot measure to rebrand the municipal mascot
had ended in the annihilation of every intellect in Schenectady County.
And much of the East, West, and No Coast regions of the United States.

The grass roots campaign to replace the Schenectady Patriot with the Schenectady Concientious Objector
(a figure no less devoted to country, but more "free thinking," its proponents would argue)
had gathered unexpected steam when introduced to the public at large
in a tweet by the nation's commander in chief.

The inevitable result being a relentless and fast paced evolution of the story
by all-day-all-night-all-the-time news producers.
All using the same words with different tone and inflection.
And the relitigation of every detail
by 37% of American households.  
Including 6% that didn't actually give a ****, but enjoyed participating.

So what had been good natured
and modestly ambitioned
civic badinage
progressed through all the stages of twenty-first century newspeak
familiar to the politically observant of the time.
With any nuanced or genuine debate
relegated to micro-audienced podcasts
and IRC channels scattered about the internet.

And when the measure passed.
As part of a pendulum swing greater than itself.
The victors
taken by surprise
and frayed at all edges
by the death threats and vitriol visited upon them in the preceding weeks
felt sure
that everything would be better off simply left alone.
While their detractors
apoplectic
foretold the end of civilization.
And prepared accordingly.

that the EU was over... i could have told you...
way back in 2004...
when the "project" expanded by a gravity
of 8...
             plain and simple...
                   thank you - dear west...
                      sprechen deutsch!
nein!
              sprrrrr-ECHEN deuTsch!
danke - liebe abend...
                                         liebe... abend...
the hounds and the workers from under
the curtain...
with iron teeth and bones and smiles...
  the hounds...
                   i composed a list...
                  almost all of them are the former
conscripts of the WarshauPakt...
                    the idea was... though...
to postpone their entry... to... strenghten
the common currency... the shared currency...
zu stärken die währung!
    too bad... well... the british would never
exchange fiat or gold... without Lizzy's face
donning the coinage or paperaeroplanes
of in-debted over spending...
           i do live on debit...
i'm trying to get a credit card...
since... i heard... all credit can be regained...
a credit is a safety-net -
   debit tenticles into your details and there's
very or little chance to argue against:
a zombie affair of debit -
an amazon 30-day free trial...
                it's not like they'd cut you off...
they'll keep on *******...
god forbid... vampirism... and the romance of...
a bit like a h.i.v. epidemic...
     illness of the blood...
   vampires are a romance...
      time to get on the bicycle and practice
a run through the village on a whim
of ****** hunger... about to be tested...
a single currency...
well... the germans always loved the idea
of a unified Europe...
              unlucky for them... they weren't
supposed to gain access to Charlemagne...
        but even Nietzsche cites this ambition...
too bad... there was no... scandinavian model
of teaching: an omni-present bilingualism...
or a switzerland model of at least three languages...
hardly... possible... when dealing on the outskirts
with: hissy-fit proponents of culture...
when the ottomans came, the mongols...
a list of the EU expansion:
the baltic states would cower and...
some if not all... do have the shared currency...
just out of the blue...
the tri-colour... why is the german football team
attired in teutonic knight colours?
oh i can just see it...
   a black shirt... red shorts... and yellow socks...
as emblematic as the fwench...
    unlike the Italians in blue...
oddly enough i don't associate rome with blue...
more... purple and red...
even the irish don't exactly show off their
terrible orange...
        schwarz und weiß:
                  arbeit macht frei... it's all a very german
"thing": this unification of europe...
why call it the EU at all...
   why not call it...       the vierte *****?!
         well... however long it lasted... it outlasted
the dream of Barbarossa invested in through
heat-leer...
                          i won't deny that i live
in england... but... it's sometimes worrying
too...
           never mind that... the currency...
well... i know of: the czechs with their koruna
the hungarians have their forint
  the polacks have their złoty
    and the invested amour of the germans...
for the swedes... the swedes still have
their krona... how many is, that? i count...
                               4...
                   the new... "european" enclave
into russia... whatever the **** and unnatural
was... the vicinity around Kaliningrad...
the same ****: different cover with...
estonia, latvia... lithuania all in the euro single
currency... the good old days of the teutonic
knights waging their northern crusades...

the slovakians were duped too...
               the romanians still have their leu...
the bulgarians still have their lev...
            oh mein gott! what of the projected...
sleeping beuaty entry... of the former yugoslavia
territory? was that... planned for...
2004... 2007... what the hell happened in... 2010?!
what happened in 2010 that didn't connect
Greece to... Italy via a shortcut across the Adriatic?!

but they enlarged... the... cartoon post-"soviets"
came out flinging **** and rusty spare parts...
some would catch a nail some a *****...
to pick vegetables, do the roofing... the plumbing for...
very important and riddled western:
"chauvinists" and... "neanderthal" journos of the great
snooze...

can it really be... deemed... "journalism" as
it mere partakes in... the chihuahua and lackeys
of the editorial? of the opinion pieces?
are they the ones to soften the blow of a harsh...
editorial... ahem... re-a(h)-lee-tea?

what was all this hype and envy for attention
when Brexit happened...
relentless... one trough of dog **** and canines
and minced maggot flesh for the lap dogs
to slurp... another baron of: for those idle hands...
work! the crown... or in terms of terms...
kabbalah: the keter... ehyeh asher ehyeh...

today i asked myself...
what does make h. p. lovecraft original...
in the ocotpus riddled godhead...
i asked myself that question when looking
at very finely sculpted from tree figures
of elephants... and...
an octopus godhead...
            well... and there's... Ganesha...
  which... is a bit like the russian name: Nikita...
you have one Nikita in that video of Elton
John... but then... you know it's not the Nikita
of teenage boy wetdreams...
but some Khrushchev...

      anything from the seas... perhaps...
except for seeing a whale... a fish that... needs
to snorkel... and it's BoB or bOb with gills
plucking out Os from bubbles...
                        in that: -xygen...
                             what can be so... possibly...
horrid and original within the confines
of h. p. lovecraft's imagination beside...
the descriptive allure...
                        as man i couldn't conjure up...
nothing as spectacular,
imaginative and yet... somehow... sensible...
as an elephant's head...
                     i bring the hindu head of an elephant
to compete with the anglo-saxon priest
of the depths of existential angst...
     i bring my elephants head before the octopus
attached to a body...
                 i can imagine much worse...
              but i'll use the fear of the octopus
and the leftover ink...
                             the EU was dead in 2004...
perhaps these isles wouldn't be throwing such
a hissy fit of self-congratulatory gluttony
of gloating over the defeated...
       it wouldn't have happened if there was:
currency of one's own...
               the rest will happen... naturally...
of the countries that still have their currency...
they still have their sovreignity...
i'm not into bull-crap stipends of talking
politico and sharpening pencils and folding
pieces of paper...
                       it was dead when...
                              the labour market opened...
and "our" best postcards... "our" best people decided
to leave the nest...
             2004 was a siesmic shift...
back in 1994 i was a token slav...
       hell... back in 2002 i was a token slav...
                 after 2004... i was no longer a token slav...
and because, after all... the british people
are omni-good... glutten-free eating
dickens reading cricket lovers...
        there is absolutely nothing criminal to be
associated with...
                     well... imagine a st. peter of mongolia!

what became apparent after 2004...
returning to those friendships prior... in school...
i somehow had a reputation of a patriarch...
the mood suddenly changed...
i was... the good exponent...
then the bad exponent... then all the bad exponents...
compared the beatles': i am the walrus
with... killing joke's: i am the virus...
as a side-note...

                  there wouldn't be a Brexit...
without the pound...
                       the pound predetermined the success
of the referendum...
it's almost as easy as frying pancakes...
not... if Britain was buying toothpaste
or shoelaces in euros...
for me it's still the most obvious... cheap victory...

the call for self-determination and
sovreignity... well that's all nice and Pickwican...
but the money already had the loudest
voice... and it was in the minoty of
a single pound...

it still feels like a cheap victory...
              a load of bureaucratic papers -
hardly a signature of **** on should they be worth
that of toilet paper and a wipe:
no nation's sovreignity is ever questioned:
when its currency is the ultimate authority -
unshaken...
and in europe? there are still a few left...
with the same integrity of currency...
4...

      whatever happened to the spaniards'
colonial past? where did the money go to?
               doesn't matter...
the satellite hounds of the former soviet empire:
having to integrate into the german-lands...
was always going to be a bad idea...
a sore denial of leaving a dozen plums
"wandering" from chin to cheek and elsewhere...
it's hard to imagine...
that a people would somehow come from
under one handlers...
and readily agree to new handlers...
and a "capital"... in Brussels?!
of all places... Brussels?!

        geographically speaking... where
is the centre of Europe? at best Dresden...
Toruń... Prague... at worst... Brussels... Dublin...

or coming from a town that once could
boast about... a cohort 30,000 metallurgy workers
in its metallurgy plants...
diminished... to... 3,000...
what's 30,000 roughly multiplied by:
a wife and two children? 100,000 circa...
move to elsewhere in Poland...
or move elsewhere in general...
ah... the love of obstacles... a language to acquire...
well... here's the prior-mentioned
acquisition...

       looks like i haven't been such a bad
host... after all...
clearly it - the host and "parasite" can
relate to a song in quasi-finnish:
täppmarschen!
                
          of the people "supposed" to be...
none and all were not... supposed to be...
even with the dreams of german
19th century recluses akin to nietzsche...
who... if being put under the scrutiny of
Mr. Dickens...
would be found as being bound
to the style of stenography of a... mr. alfred jingle...

nothing more! nothing more of this
already questionable affair of sods
and sorts!
               didn't... just a little bit... couldn't
nietzsche be... put on trial for
writing in stenography? high-brow and
brows indeed raised: should any more
sycoiphancy relating to the style...
be found upon this "trial of errs and errors"...
the englishman... if not the most...
trialed by witness...
    the most... sympathy sodden sobrerity...
as with requiring him to be drunk...
he starts to play the rascal
with a ******* slingshot... and never:
the poached egg in a barrel of whiskey...
never that... pensive: brood quote...

i only wished that i had lived
about / among the pobl Gymraeg...
well... who can wish otherwise...
                   Cymry... when there's me
attempting to sharpen the chisel of my oyster's
worth of tongue in speech and none
of it reserved to the dog oyster's worth
of performing the suitable, otherwise...
personages of oral found in the gutter
or in the ***** of Venus... should her floral
womb open for: vaccanies:
only onomatopoeias and vowel catching
brothers H and H of the tetragrammaton
allowed in!

just because it's Cornwall...
doesn't imply i will not come with...
                                                      Çymru!
no point a base in Loon'don if York is left
intact and with only two left hands
to govern it...
     even now...
                lepiej dmuchać na zimne:
better safe than sorry...
eh... pity that proverb...
since there's no connotation
of the joke... it is better to blow on the cold...
tea...

      and what of my time among
the Picts... well... that truly is a sort of...
muslim man mentality toward a woman
wearing a niqab...
            it's one of those: for your eyes only...
shady strings... perhaps the lute is involved...
t-shirt madmen...
in the middle of February...
on... the north bridge... and just below:
waverley station...

                     only last night i had a dream
of inspecting sketches of me...
with a 6-pack... long hair...
and the hands that scratched my love-handles
when they had their torso pinned
to a trojan thumping in a *******...
she's still a ghost of mine...
every time i want to forget her...
she resurfaces...
  it's like... kissing a frog...
                       i am the ******* frog...
and she is... the sitting, poised...
always less alarmed than usual: Akhmatova...
one of those women that i could:
actually... i still do... **** of on a regular basis...
she was my Aria Giovanni...
she became my Eve Angel...
                in between she's a compliment
of cubism is (you read that right...
of cubism is and not of cubism in)...
   her bagel of a nose... and she is myopic and
she's a troll short...
                she'd find a kippah on her head
under my chin... then again...
when she had short hair she was the only
tom-boy in edinburgh to steal...
              looks like the hopes for a... an engagement
afresh... well... she morphed into
the grant Tsarina and i am...
the next *******-master of a Потёмкин...
                               i am also delusional about:
my currency of metaphors...
god... mother... nation...
                      what are these...
when you have made it... and are a citizen of...
Monte ******* Carlo?!
when i think of father... eh...
well there could be an outlet of metaphors...
but then... there's that quote that mentions
Elijah... and i'm all knees and pearly gates please...
primo et pronto!

point proven... i can't exactly love another
woman... i can **** anything that moves...
etc.,
        but it's not exactly love to begin with...
it's that genius of reciprocated nihilim...
i began to live for the promise of:
and i will spend a tenner with charles III
***** on a banknote...
before the next pope does a kicker in one
of death's lamborghinis: feet first out
of the church congregation of:
              i didn't come here to praise caesar...

         but here a coffin... and an abudance
of toothpicks! sometimes... it would seem...
one doesn't have the necessary wealth...
as there simply can't be "too many" teeth
when the economy and ergonomics of toothpick
application is concerned...

oh that victorian laissez-faire of applied
language... it's not short... it's Pickwican...
it's... insinuating an extension of the bracket of
inclusion of informality...
a commonality of staging a cordiality
with a dwarf... strapped to... a song...
no less... rotes harr... i can see these devilish
imps chained to a carousel of this infernal
dance... and there is no greek-god
of the german-romance myth in sight...
for that... sort of sell-by-date nostalgia...
a rotten apple... a a Helga for a lover...
and a Helmut for a luvvy-dubby-shy-bud
of a limp whittle 'ichard!

- she's like a burning splinter in my mind...
of a body... that's all but cemented into
the hands of a sculptor that only works
with copper, brass, marble or... custard for brains...
and this burning...
again to Sophia with all the baggage of
a priori...
or Medussa with all that comes with shadows
of... frozen suitors to fashion
****** from...
her entourage of suitors... three coronations
of engagements down...
however many lovers...
me and my brothel sand-pitting to the best
kept secret of:
a leverage of two bodies embracing
for minor pundit approval...
the man of supposed lies...
the deceiving harrower...
                      
god and this leeching telepathic embrace...
"god", this telepathic embrace...
and the subsequent telekinesis of me
writing these words...
last time i had this murmur...
i came to aid as she was cutting her hands
down the Nile...
and... not exactly at the crux of...
the Hoover Dam... shame... a great shame really...

so be it... as it has always been...
whispers and grains of sand
passed toward the post-office of the wind.

I painted the fences today
My hands in grey
Can't bear any delay
I count on the moments
Spended with my opponents
Cause they're my lovely proponents!

i'm putting in a shift at Oxford F.C. tomorrow, get to Romford centre at 9:45am... wake up at half to 8am, shower, have a coffee, two cigarettes, maybe eat something, get into the town centre, have a second coffee, another cigarette, then wait for Daniel and Melanie and head up to Oxford... give Daniel the 5 quid for the petrol, no problem... but now? i need to drink a little... i need to think about katakana and Hanguel... i'm nervously-excited... drink... think about language... do that ****-fest of a Covid test... blah blah... all good...

私: watashi...
alternatively, via the phonetic syllable encoding system
of the katakana...
ワタシ (wa-ta-****)
while in the west... "gender neutral" pronouns...
now, i can understand the metaphysics of the transgender
movement, sure... like Plato once wrote:
if you're a bad man...
you're going to be reincarnated as a woman...
dated... but...
what's happening now?
a backlog of reincarnations that didn't happen?!
you go after language... that's the end...
i'll eagerly stomach a Thai surprise...
how the **** did the Thai people invent:
"invent"(?) this transgender phenomenon...
sure... but at least their proponents
do the chop and get on with silicon implants
and all that's "supposedly" glorious about
buggery...
no one's complaining...
the usual tourists arrive... mostly middle-class
English men who feel disfranchised by
the concept of marriage... and... hey presto!
a Thai surprise banquet... lady boys on the menu...
well... at least the Thai have managed to
keep this taboo under wraps of: leaving it the ****
alone... the moment language is invoked...
someone like me is going to hear about it and...
erm... "rebel"?

- personally... i'm disgusted with modern
*******...
i always tend to do one sly
while on the throne of thrones
while also securing taking a **** & a ****...
then taking a shower...
hetero-"erotica" has gone downhill...
i should know... i started *******
when i was 8.... or 7...
i even managed to teach another boy
how to ******* when we were having
a bath together...
weird scenario... immigrant...
his parents were like a hiring agency...
we used to spend time watching power-rangers
while living under the same roof
as... oh... i'd say... 20 or so labourers...
Perth Road... Gants Hill...
that's when i first played my first Sonic
game on セガ (mega-drive)...
i guess i'm one of the few last ones...
who managed to either buy really cheap white lightning
cider (underage) with Peter & Kieran
while spending a weekend in a youth centre
playing pool... and a ***** mag...
**** **** **** & bushy groin regions...
fabulous looking women...
not as classy as Carrie-Anne Moss...
turns out all the pretty girls don't end up
trading in the world with their bodies...
some, become actresses... good for them...

n'ah... modern ******* ***** ***...
major ***...
but... recently i came across this little gem...
CAMERON CANADA mit MIA MALKOVA...
i'm generally into lesbian *******:
give me the classical Italian stuff...
that stuff in between authentic acting
and not this grey area of amateur cringe...

watching them... each and every time:
i want to **** a woman like a woman would want
to **** a woman...
i don't think i went much further beside them
kissing... oh, my, god... how they kissed...
i was seeing two women kiss...
but subconsciously...
i was watching a classic from ancient Rome...
of regurgitation, that sort of bulimia associated
with an **** of feasting upon too much...
come to think of it...
i was also watching a snail slobber itself all over
a wet leaf of cabbage...
i was watching an oyster attempt to eat a pear...

ugh... all this man on woman sort of crap...
i shy away from it...
i rather ******* to a classical painting...
my favourite being...
  Bronzino: allegory of Venus, Cupid, Folly & Time...
why? the tenderness of the tongues
coming into contact with the lips...
all children seem to be androgynous...
let's leave it at that...
people talk some much in this horrid take of
***... that's why i was so drawn into this lesbian
antic.. who were they?

Cameron Canada & Mia Malkova... right... them two...
they hardly spoke...
i think it's bad taste to speak any decipherable word
during *******... for me... it's... cringe...
i'll let it pass, but... talking during ***...
what are those favourites?
oh **** me,
**** me daddy...
you're so big...
yes yes yes...
no... when i **** and since i **** so rarely...
all of that **** is on mute...
onomatopoeias...
vowels, consonants, perhaps...
otherwise: no words, in, the, bedroom...
i don't want the Hebrew deity being inquisitive of
my antics...
it's already impossible living with a "predilection"
that... my thinking is "audible": it resonates...
i am, after all... a res cogitans as much as much as
a res extensa... while "his" omnipresence couples up
with my "paranoia" like:
peaches coupling with cream...
or cumin with coriander...

now i'm sitting down with a whiskey...
calming myself... listening to...
spectres in the fog... Hans Zimmer...
beside Latin - and the offshoots?
do i think ****** is superior to English?
why wouldn't i...
English seems to be more accessible to people
than my own language could ever be...
"mother"...
mind you... does English employ any
orthographic techniques?
last time i checked... no... no really...
Charles Dickens left a memorable mention...
falsely...
orthography... you can talk about it...
when and where... you, employ... diacritical
distinctions...

example?

sharp.... i started writing this yesterday,
i already wrote something about today,
the rejoice in exchanging handshakes....
with a fellow steward putting a hand on your shoulder...

i'm thinking: when does Japanese stop utilising
pseudo-emoji in their Chinese aspired
ideograms and returns to something
a(n) Europen might understnad,
like something from the handy-book
of Haguel...
it's almost funny that i can comprehend
being talked about: rather than to:
in third person,
i simply asked whether, Danny, the supervisor,
who was giving us a lift from Wembley
to... the outskirts of Greater London,
Essex... whether Romford or Newbury Park
required some petrol money...
i asked... two parties also involved...
didn't...
i stopped being the apparent ****...

i keep my mouth shut during the whole trip...
why bother talking when he's clearly having
problems listening to one song in total...
perhaps he's listening to the wrong sort of genre?
Prokofiev? no, that'll not pass on the sly...

i'm a man... women have started to acknowledge that...
they tell their children: obey this man,
listen to this man...
why am i oh why am i so *******, surprised?!
i end the day's shift with a doubled-up handshake...
some Francis, a Nigerian...
i'm not English: but i forgot to tell him that fact,
even though i could pass off as a native...

i can't replica writing these ideograms on this
website...
on some other... with some expansive Hangul...
sure... but not here...
heat of noon...
   netsu ノ hiru (ヒル)

it's so elaborate at first, at first... to thirst... then...
some... discrepancies...
two consonants twinned: within the confines
of TRY... or within the confines of GLOAT...
then, only then, does Japanese fall short on
what's to be expressed:
HATAI:  ハタイ

      almost like Morse Code:
coding with syllable break-ins / break-ups...
but hardly any GL-
to later eat OATS...

i will not enter the realm of Hangul...
as much as i want to...
lost the A... lost the Bot...
lost myself to drinking...
i will not even enter the realm of translation
the modern emoji / emoticon with...
the skeletal confines of the Asiatic ideogram...
so some elaborate to counter the Egyptian
hieroglyphs...

anyone bother to mind, orientate themselves...
around a newly arrived "enzyme" or
year zero?!
   just recent points to consider...
no, i don't think of it much...
"the boss" might be driving a Bentley...
got £1.5M from the Covid scheme of
not enough earning...
bought something else...
a proper "boss": i.e.: a proper ****...
arrogant alpha-lab *****...
post-military...
want me to play the beta-role...
sure... i'll play it...
  
   but... i don't want to earn the sort of money
that will make women wanting to be depended on me...
i don't want to earn the sort of women
that women will use in order to spend my earned dough...
i'd much prefer spending the money on art...
on gallery access...
i'm not going to spend my money on ******* handbags...
coat-hangers?! sure... i'll consider that one...
but... all that other crap?
i'll spend my money on prostitutes...
just enough to get by...
i'm not going to earn the sort of money
that leaves me... shackled, caged... subservient...
******* hopeless..

pretty limited... whast? katakana...
is begins with... consonants + vowel coupling...
it's not like you can reverse that:
vowel + consonant coupling... can you?

there's that tree...
there's that clot of thunderous cloud...
here's an umbrella...
and a... heterosexual predicament of...
can two straight guys...
pretend an umbrella is like a mushroom
they foraged for, found, "somehow"
simultaneously, or, something?!

alt. the meme:
would you rather date a woman that's an antithesis
of a mermaid...
or would you rather date, a mermaid?
****'s worth or... what's the alternatively avaible?
endless *******
in comparison to: an ****** that
reads a sort of Braille of: hello, my name if BOB
in blowing out bubbles...
a ******* no brainer if you ask me...
an anti-meme.

Don't be too humble, or you'll get what you need
The school of hard knocks will be the life you lead
Until you groan and moan about your cruel fate
And people will take and eat what you should have ate.

Don't be too aggressive, or you'll get what you want
And full of good things you'll sneer and taunt
Until you realize you lived too fast
And choked on life and cannot last.

I have seen those who take pride in their faithlessness
When the going gets tough, they crumble.
I have seen those who take pride in their faithfulness
How they look at others and grumble.

Some say it takes time, but that is not entirely true;
When you eat food, time will not chew for you.
Some look at depth, some see only length;
Enlightenment and ignorance both can be used for strength.

A good feeling is not a trophy one puts on a shelf.
Every moment I am working on myself.
I have no need for naysayers or proponents
I simply acknowledge my good and bad moments.

Fix the bad, then do good;
It's human nature, as it should.
Some see only what's nice, some see only what's vice
Yet once you uncover a memory, no need to do it twice.

The war room brainstorming resulted in an acrimonious rift between war proponents and opponents. It saved humanity from extinction for a short period of time.

Now peddling replacement theory,
And even calling it by name,
Some on the Right are using the term
Overtly, without a hint of shame.

A multicultural America
Is clearly what the proponents fear.
But who or what is being replaced
To many people remains unclear.

I used to think the concept was
A bigoted, racist thing of the past.
But what we are seeing happening now
Shows how long such ideas can last.

After the rallies in Charlottesville,
When mobs of white-supremacists chanted
"Jews will not replace us!" we knew
That we shouldn't take our freedoms for granted.

So now the Right is telling us
That immigrants are "invading" our land,
Bringing disease and who knows what else;
Therefore, we must take a stand.

Furthermore, the Right insists
That bringing immigrants in is not
Beneficial to all, for it
Is nothing but a "liberal plot."

To bolster their non-inclusive ideas,
Some on the Right have traveled abroad
To gain support from strongmen leaders
To whom they give an approving nod.

Ideas that used to be on the fringe,
Now occur on a larger scale
And out in the open--in clear sight--
As the GOP drops its veil.

Hold up a mirror, America.
Do you like what you currently see?
Heaven help us if this is the kind
Of country we were meant to be.

-by Bob B (9-30-21)

Must I debate
About the proponents
Of acrimony and war, or do you wanna handle this
With modern warfare in the war room
The smoke, screens and chaos, it gets me thinking
Why we bundled them up as the papers meant for each passing Pope
These papers take lives away, give breathing souls false hope